Being a child I loved to feel isolated from the rest of the world, and at the same time I dreamt of the day I would have sailed away on that boat I could see far away.
I guess there is also a cosy familiar feeling in the idea of an island, like when you are in your home sweet home and what is outside doesn’t matter anymore.

But there is more than all that.

It’s like a silent shiver you cannot clearly feel down your spine, but in the back of your mind you know it’s happening. It’s linked to a primordial instinct of survival.
Nowadays we hardly stumble by chance on the shores of desert islands, but in the past it happened. And the first thought was the need to survive unknown challenges, the need to be prepared to cope with anything on your own.

Growing up I have learnt how to be an island. It might have been delusions from people, or just me setting too high expectations. I have learnt that I could trust others, but up to a point. I have always felt the need to be ready to rely on myself and my capabilities first of all. Only then I could decide if delegating to others who looked ready to help.

It’s the protective vegetation that grows on a small, sparsely populated island.

The weather can also change. At times the patch of land becomes unreachable, while other times it even connects to the main land. It usually depends on the moon.

Don’t get me wrong, I also give all of myself to my best friend or to true love. But I know we change, and the other we love change too. Sometimes so much that we can’t recognize each other anymore. And we should learn to accept that this is normal, it’s nature.